


With Braids On

by MaryPSue



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen, mabel and nanny would get along like a house on fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 07:45:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6602575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryPSue/pseuds/MaryPSue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Granny Weatherwax doesn't hold with glittery extradimensional visitors taking over her best friend's living room. Even if said glittery extradimensional visitor is twelve years old and has a pig in tow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Braids On

**Author's Note:**

> Short, but hopefully sweet.

“I don’t like it, Gytha.”

Nanny Ogg (Gytha to her friends, “Mum” to half of Lancre, and any number of besotted sobriquets to lovelorn paramours across two continents, if her reputation was to be believed) stopped just before stepping into her own living room, held back by the extended arm of her best friend, Granny Weatherwax (Esmeralda to her friends - well, friend*). Granny’s eyes were narrowed, her gaze steely as she watched the small, brightly-clad girl in the middle of the living room enthusiastically attempt to braid Magrat’s hair.

Nanny looked from the girl, who had started to wave her hands excitedly to illustrate some point, to the thoughtful frown puckering Granny’s forehead, and then back to the girl again. The girl had a nearly identical expression on her face as she looked down at Magrat’s hair, which had seen its opportunity when the girl had started gesturing and had sprung free of its nominal braid.

“What don’t you like, Esme?” Nanny asked. A casual observer would have seen nothing to suggest she was anything other than perfectly unconcerned about the goings-on in her living room.

“Any of it,” Granny said, shortly. “I don’t believe for a moment that she don’t know how she got here. And all that glitter! Can’t trust anythin’ that sparkles that much.” She gave a firm nod, as though delivering a verdict in the court of natural law.

Nanny thought about crowns with glass gems that glittered under stage lights, about a white ballgown shimmering different colours with the reflection of fireworks, about a ring of standing stones.

“She’s got a pig,” she pointed out.**

They both turned to look at the animal in question.

“Not a  _proper_  pig,” Granny said, with a sniff. “It’s too…pink.”

Nanny had to concede the point.

“I don’t like it,” Granny repeated, with a note of finality, shaking her head in disapproval. And then, “And just what has she done to Magrat’s head?”

The girl looked up from her handiwork as Granny and Nanny entered the room, Granny striding with purpose, each boot coming down on the floorboards as though they had personally offended her, Nanny following at full amble. “Great, you guys are back! Check it out!” She waggled all of her fingers, before throwing out both arms to point towards Magrat’s head. “Braid sculpture!”

Granny’s eyes narrowed. Magrat, looking sheepish, offered her a small smile. It withered in the flames of Granny’s glare.

“I see,” she said, after a moment’s consideration. “You braided the braids into each other so they’d stay up.”

The girl beamed almost as bright as the sun wearing dark glasses on the front of her glaringly bright sweater. “I know, I’m a genius.” She gave a small gasp, clapping both hands to her cheeks. “You know what? Now that you guys are back, we have enough people for a braid train!”

Granny’s expression didn’t change. It just froze, in such a way that Nanny knew quite a lot of furious thought was going on behind it, thought that Granny didn’t want to let show. 

Nanny was both surprised and impressed when the girl canted her head to one side and said, “Don’t you know what a braid train is?”

“Of course I do,” Granny snapped. “Seen thousands. Huh, nothin’ special about a braid with trains on.” She drew herself up, crossing her arms over her chest and raising her chin with a sniff.

“Great!” The girl plopped herself down, cross-legged, in the middle of the living room floor. The pig gave a grunt and waddled over to nudge its head against the girl’s shoulders as she patted the floor in front of her. “Sit down, and let’s get braiding!”

Both of Granny’s eyebrows shot up.

Before she could say anything, Nanny, with a symphony of ominous creaks and pops from a host of hidden and complicated undergarmentry, lowered herself to the floor to sit facing the girl. “Well, I ain’t ever seen a braid with trains on. Or a train with braids on, for that matter. And you know I’m always up for tryin’ anythin’ new. How’s this work?”

____

*The full list of monikers by which Granny Weatherwax was known spans an impressive number of languages and is, unfortunately, largely unprintable.

**It is a well-known and -documented fact that beings of magical origin often have a close relationship with animal familiars. Owls and ravens seem to be perennial favourites, as are foxes, spiders, and, on at least one memorable occasion, a hippopotamus. Thus far, there are no recorded instances of anything fey choosing a pig as its earthly representative.


End file.
